


Five Things Adam Birkholtz Learns in HDFS 332: Healthy Couple Relationships

by EllyAvon



Series: There's a Time for Everything (And that Time is College) [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: A Precious, Also don't take night classes with Lardo, Bisexuality, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't fight with Lardo, Healthy Relationships, Holster has lots of feelings, John Gottman for real, M/M, Perfect Coral Reef, Ransom is a coral reef, We're bros, biromantic, bros definitely being bros, hand holding, healthy fighting, human sexuality, learning, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6889495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllyAvon/pseuds/EllyAvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HDFS 332: Healthy Couple Relationships is just the night class Holster is taking with Lardo to fulfill one of his core requirements. He doesn't expect it to drastically change his life.</p><p>OR: The Weirdest Healthy Relationships PSA Ever.</p><p>OR: Wholesome Holsom</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sexuality Is Way More Complicated Than Just Gay vs. Straight

It’s not that he didn’t know about being bisexual; He’s been at friggin’ Samwell for three and a half years. He knows tons of gay dudes and lesbians and bisexuals and pan folk and queer people and, well, _Shitty._ He’s just never been given a chart, and asked to think about where _he_ fits on it. He's just always pretty much assumed he was straight. Or mostly straight. If someone pressed him he'd probably say he'd be flexible if need be, but no one had ever pressed. No one’s ever asked him if he’s bi, so he’d never really asked _himself_ if he was bi. He’s always known he wasn’t full-on gay-- he loves women.

Holster loves: big eyes, plush lips, long legs and he is _definitely_ an ass man... yeah. He loves women; that’d never been a question. _That’s privilege, brah,_ he hears Shitty’s voice in his head. Holster has never had to think about his sexuality before. No one’s ever asked him about his sexuality before. And now he's in HDFS 332, staring down at his worksheet, where he's been asked to place X marks on the charts where he feels his own orientations fall.

Lardo is in the seat next to him, and he spies on her paper a little, where she’s putting some X’s toward the feminine/woman/female side and a whole bunch smack in the middle. She leans back in her seat and raises an eloquent eyebrow at him, like _what?_ With her awesome Lardo-patented  _I will fight you_ , glare.

He looks at the chart in front of him-- well, charts. The first several are pretty easy for him. Holster knows he was assigned male at birth and that he has male genitalia (and probably male chromosomes, but no one’s ever checked him) and that he identifies as a man (well, he identifies as a bro, but it’s not on the chart). But the next scale throws him for a loop: Romantic and Sensual attraction. _Includes spending time, snuggling/cuddling, light kissing, intimate nonsexual touch (such as hair stroking, non-sexual massage, sleeping together)._

Well, Holster couldn’t possibly give less shits who he snuggles with. Dudes are just as good as ladies for that. Being on the hockey team pretty much means there’s always someone in his space, and that someone is almost always a dude (unless it’s Lardo). Actually, that person is almost always Ransom. He’s never thought of wanting to be close to Ransom as anything other than a reflection of how truly awesome Ransom is, or how awesome their friendship is.

But it is true, he looks forward to being close with Ransom-- they hug in a way that would definitely merit _no homos_ on another team. They share Holster’s tiny bunk when it’s freezing in the attic. Ransom is his emergency contact. Ransom is the first person he sees in the morning and the last person he sees at night. Ransom pets his hair when he’s freaked out and Holster is the only one who can bring Ph balance back to the delicate fucking coral reef which is Ransom’s mental state back to rights.

Holy shit, he thinks, as the professor tries to bring their attention back to her PowerPoint, assuming that everybody has made it through the chart without having some sort of crisis without even getting down to the Sexual Attraction bar. Jesus.

Holster ends up quickly putting the X almost in the middle, but closer to the “prefers feminine/female/woman.” side. Does really liking snuggling and being "casually intimate," with your male best friend mean he's biromantic? He turns back to his notes and leaves the last scale untouched. The revelation that he’s sensually/romantically attracted to Ransom is way more than enough for one day, thanks.

When he gets back to the attic, it's almost eleven, and Ransom is laying out on his stomach on their ugly shag rug in a threadbare pair of boxers and a dark tank. He twists his head and smiles at him when Holster reaches the top of the attic stairs.

 _Big eyes. Plush Lips. Long Legs and... Hockey Ass._ Wow. Okay. Shit.

He stands there with his mouth hanging open for just a moment before he shakes his head and tosses his bookbag down.

And there goes his answer on the last chart. Wow.


	2. Ransom Always "Turns Toward" Him

Apparently, Holster learns, weeks later, there is a way to tell if couples are going to get divorced, and it is weirdly simple. It’s called “Turning Towards.” He stares at the slide with a list of “bids,” and feels a ton of things fall into place-- his parents’ divorce, his freshman year roommate’s relationship explosion, and...

Ransom.

He can’t count the number of inane, ridiculous times he’s said, “Hey, Rans?” and Ransom turns toward him. He always looks up. Always puts down what he’s doing. Always takes his earbuds out. Even when Holster is about to say something immeasurably stupid and Ransom knows it, he responds. Even when Ransom is in full-on endangered reef study mode. When he’s half-asleep, he responds. When they’re completely schwasted or when Shitty and Lardo smoke them up, or the one time he got the flu. Ransom never, ever misses a bid.

When Holster asks him to get breakfast, he says yes. When he makes an idiotic plan to prank Jack, Ransom says yes (if grudgingly, and after he changes the plan for the better). When Holster asks him to play Madden, he says yes. When Holster makes up ridiculous, stupid songs for him, he smiles, and says thanks, bro. When he asked him-- in their attic, one late night, if he thought he was an idiot, Ransom hopped down from his bunk, took him by the shoulders and told him _Bro, some days, I am humbled by your brilliance. I hope I have never, ever said anything to make you feel like you’re anything but amazing._

Lardo is looking at him funny now, because he knows he’s blushing and staring off into the distance and not listening at all.

Then, like a ton of bricks, he’s thinking about the time Ransom said, “Hey Holtzy?” and he pretended to be asleep. He’s thinking about that night Freshman year after a kegster when Ransom asked him to come back to his dorm to watch some bad TV before they fell asleep, and Holster said no. He’s thinking, painfully, and with an amount of shame he had previously reserved for his mom walking in on him jacking off, about the time Ransom reached out to him for comfort after a bad game, and Holster told him to leave him alone.

“Dude,” Lardo hisses, “Holster, are you okay?”

His cheeks are wet, and he suddenly really, really needs to get out of here. What the hell had Ransom heard all of those times he turned down his bids? _You’re bothering me,_ his brain supplies, _I don’t want to spend time with you,_ it continues, and horribly: _I don’t care about you._ His chest feels tight and his eyes are stinging.

“No,” he chokes out, and Lardo nods.

Holster has never been more glad they sit in the very back of the auditorium. He’s certain he got the message RE: John Gottman and Turning Towards.

When they get to a deserted portion of hallway, Lardo turns all 5’1” of herself on him and demands, “tell me what you need.”

He tries to shake his head, and say he’s fine, but a sob bursts out of him instead.

“Birkholtz,” she says, brooking no argument.

 _I was mean to Ransom!_ He wants to scream, but all that comes out is the last bit-- “Ransom.”

Lardo, may Gretsky bless Lardo, is instantly tapping on her phone and leading him away. It’s good because Holster has no idea what’s happening right now only that _he was mean to Ransom,_ that _he told Ransom that he doesn’t care about him._ And holy fucking shit, _he turned away from Ransom_ and _what the fuck was he thinking._

They arrive at the Haus, which, yeah, that’s probably good. It makes sense that Lardo brought him here.

Ransom is on the porch, coming down the steps. He looks terrified, “Holy shit, Holtzy, what’s the matter? Jesus, Lardo, what the hell happened?”

Then Ransom’s arms are around him, one hand snugly wrapped around his waist and another burrowing into his hair, and it feels so good that he just cries harder. Ransom is making quiet, comforting noises, and they’re standing in the middle of the front yard of the Haus and it’s just ridiculous.

“Rans,” is all he can get out, before he’s being led inside and planted on the couch. Bitty drapes a blanket over his shoulders before Ransom sits down, practically in his lap, and puts both arms around him again.

He hears Lardo’s voice telling them, “we were learning about this Gottman stuff, like, if you turn away from people it sends them a message that you don’t care,” which sets him off on another wildly embarrassing crying jag. It's awful because Ransom is there, Ransom is always there for him and-- yeah he’s usually there for him too, but _fuck._

Ransom is a logical human being and so he asks, “Holtzy, is that what’s bothering you? Was it something in the class or something else?”

All he can do is nod and hide his face in his hands and try to breathe like a normal human being.

“Um, can I just, can we have a minute?” Ransom asks, and Holster assumes Lardo and Bitty clear out, because Ransom inches even closer, and takes one of his hands so he can thread their fingers together.

There’s a long silence, and Ransom strokes his other hand through his hair, rubs his back, and says a bunch of ridiculous things, like, “it’s okay, bro. It’s cool. Whatever it is it’ll be okay. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll help you figure it out.”

After what feels like an eternity, he’s able to take a real breath. Holster says, on the exhale, “I’m sorry.”

“No, man. Never be sorry about your emotions that’s--”

“No," he interrupts, "No. I’m sorry. I was,” and he has to take another deep breath before he starts crying again, “I was mean to you.”

He looks up at Ransom, magical, fantastic, brilliant Ransom, who only looks utterly confused and slightly pissed.

“What the fuck, Holster," and the frown that creases his face should not be attractive. "I cannot remember a single time when you were anything less than an exemplary bro.”

“I can.” He insists, quietly. “I told you I don’t care about you-- not like-- in words, but-- I didn’t turn toward you. I told you--”

“Hey,” Ransom says, and squeezes his hand, “Whatever happened, it’s okay. I--” and here he cuts off, and Holster can feel a shake go through his body, “I know that you love me.” And there’s no way that’s bro-y enough. It’s not flippant or sarcastic. It’s nothing short of a declaration. Holster feels the tension fly out of his body. He hasn’t fucked things up-- Rans knows. Rans knows he loves him and that he cares about him and that’s all he really ever wanted. 

“Yeah, I do,” he agrees quietly, leaning over onto Ransom’s broad shoulder. He hasn’t cried like that since he broke his wrist and was alone in the hospital in 7th grade; it’s fucking exhausting.

Then, like it’s no big deal, Ransom turns his head and presses a kiss into his hair. “I love you too, bro. Don’t ever worry about that.”

“Okay,” Holster says, and nuzzles in just a little closer, “Okay. Good.”

Then, Ransom whispers into his hair, “Is that really what got you so freaked out, bro? You thought you hurt my feelings?”

Holster stays quiet for just a moment, but, hey, “Yeah. I-- damn, Ransom, you’re my best friend.”

“Yeah,” he says, “Don’t you fucking forget it either, eh?”

Holster hums a little, a quiet, happy, made-up tune, and he can feel Ransom smile. He stares down at their hands, still entangled. Ransom's fingers are warm and solid.

“Thanks Rans,” he says, before he falls asleep on his shoulder.


	3. Fighting is Healthy (and there's a Right Way to do it)

“Okay,” Ransom sighs, his voice _finally_ jumping down from a yell to a hoarse whisper, “I know you didn't do it to fuck up my O Chem quiz, because I know that you love me, but it was still uncool.”

“And I know,” his ears are ringing and his heart is pounding and the words are thick in his throat when Holster manages to say back, “that you didn't mean to yell at me like that, but it was still uncool.”

Holster hadn't known (and hadn't checked) that Ransom was going to need his special calculator for his quiz when he had absentmindedly tucked it in his backpack this morning to play with between classes.

What he does know, now, is that Ransom had a really shitty day that was made worse by the absence of his calculator. It was perfectly clear that Ransom’s stress had hit a breaking point today and Holster definitely felt the aftermath. He'd come up to the attic and launched into a fearsome tirade dotted with curses and accusations. If it hadn't been Ransom, it would have been completely terrifying. Even so, it was about the worst three minutes of Holtster's life.

They stare at one another for a long, intense moment.

Holster isn't sure what to say at this point. He’s sorry he took the calculator without asking first because he does know that Ransom is a delicate coral reef who needs all his ducks in a row. But also, he does not like being yelled at. He's not really sure which of them is going to apologize first, but then Lardo’s voice echoes up into the attic.

“Holster! Get your ass down here! We’re going to be late for love class!”

Ransom shakes his head and moves so that he’s not blocking the door. “Holster--” he starts.

“I'm going to class, but we should talk when I come home.” Holster says quietly as he gathers his things and carefully removes the stupid calculator from his bag.

Ransom says okay, and he says okay, and they give each other shaky little half-smiles. Holster goes down to meet Lardo for class.

He nearly loses his shit, though, when the first slide comes up and today they’re learning about “Responsible and Healthy Conflict Resolution: How to Fight Fair.” Like the whole Turning Toward thing didn’t fuck him up enough. This class will be the death of him, he swears.

Lardo, being a person who has ears on her head, apparently heard Ransom’s yelling, and whispers to him, “Dude, Fortify,” Which is their Shitty-Approved and non-sexist way of saying _man the fuck up._

Holster knows he can’t duck out of this class again-- even though their professor had been legitimately chill when he attempted to explain that John Gottman made him literally run crying to apologize to his best friend. It’s a night class so it only happens once a week and he can’t afford to miss another lecture.

So, he Fortifies himself.

It turns out to be... better than expected. Awesome even. From the first slide, which describes conflict as a necessary component to healthy relationships, Holster feels a little better. He and Rans hardly ever fight, but hey, at least it’s normal for it to happen. That’s good. He takes just a moment to pretend he’s not thinking about his best friend like he’s his partner, but hey, _he kind of is his partner,_ and starts taking some notes.

Two hours and fifty minutes later, Holster has a list of healthy fighting tips, with a few special points where he thinks they were pretty successful in the ongoing calculator/yelling debacle. He has the unusual feeling of being able to apply something he’s learned in class to his life directly and immediately. It’s actually pretty cool.

  1. Express your opinion clearly and in inoffensive language. (So they’d both managed to eek out “uncool,” but Ransom had definitely yelled and that was offensive to Holster, for sure).
  2. Face one another so as to avoid missing facial expressions; holding hands is good to establish connection, but serious conversations should not happen in bed or when fully embracing. (Well, they sure weren’t in bed or “fully embracing,” but they weren’t holding hands either, but that’s an easy fix.)
  3. Establish the safety of the relationship if that is not what is on the table. (Holster maybe should do this when he gets back. Ransom had reminded him that he knows he loves him, but Holster hadn’t said anything. He’ll have to make that part clear.)
  4. Stay in the present-- do not discuss past issues. (That one was easy.)
  5. Take breaks if things become heated. (Thanks for the time out, mysterious night class.)
  6. Do something to reconnect afterward, physically or emotionally. (?????)



He and Lardo step out into the cool October air, and he feels much lighter than he did before class.

“You going home to make up with Ransom?” Lardo asks with a sly side-eye.

“Yup,” he responds without even a thought.

She smiles at him and punches his arm really hard. Lardo is a good friend.

Ransom is sitting in their bedroom with his head in his hands and the stupid calculator keeping him company on the bed. He doesn’t seem to notice him standing in the doorway, staring at him. He looks so sad, sitting there alone. It’s not normal for him to not be studying or working out or messing around with the team. Their fight messed him up pretty good too.

Holster clears his throat.

“Hey,” Ransom says standing slowly but shoving the calculator onto the floor in a weird, furtive shove. Holster takes a moment, sets his backpack next to his desk, then comes to stand in front of him.

“Hi,” he says, “Look, I learned some stuff, and can we just,” he takes a deep breath, and reaches out to take his hands, just like the class said. Holding Ransom’s hands makes him feel good. Safe. Like he’s going to understand. Ransom looks a little puzzled, but doesn’t pull away, so Holster continues, “I’m really sorry I took your calculator on a quiz day; I should have asked you before taking any of your things. I know how much doing well means to you, and I don’t want to get in the way of that, you know, ever. I won’t do it again.” He takes another deep breath, “It wasn’t okay with me that you yelled at me, but I love you, man, and I know you had a shitty day. I just don’t want you treat me like that again. It hurt.”

Ransom is watching him with his big, brown eyes. His eyes are already bright, but they look moreso now with the tiniest bit of wateriness on the edges. He squeezes Holster’s hands. “I know, I know. You didn’t do it on purpose. I’m sorry I yelled at you. It wasn’t cool. I had a shit day and took it out on you, which-- man, Holtzy, you don’t deserve that, you’re the last person who deserves that. I won’t do it again.”

Slowly, Holster lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding since he stopped talking. He leans his forehead down to bump against Ransom’s.

“Are we good?”

“Yeah,” Ransom says, and there’s a strange note in his voice as he moves a little closer. He laces their fingers together instead of the London-Bridges style hand hold they’d been rocking earlier. “Yeah, man, we’re good.”

“Swawesome.” Holster whispers, and closes the gap between them, so that they’re just pressed carefully to one another, holding hands like they’ve just gotten married. “You wanna cuddle and watch some 30 Rock with me?”

He feels rather than sees Ransom smile, “Yeah, bro, okay.”

Holster thinks, as he's snuggling into Ransom's side, watching the glow of his laptop play an episode he's seen at least six times, that if they have to fight again, they'll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, give these rules a try! You don't actually have to hold hands with a non-sexual partner when you're fighting with them, but they're living in a fun grey area, so hey, what can you do. :D
> 
> I loves me some comments and kudos. Also, I love this fandom. You know, I've been writing fic a long time and I'm pretty sure this fandom has THE BEST hits/comments ratio. So, rock on, my fellow OMGCP Trash! We are awesome.


	4. The Platinum Rule

There are some things that don’t change in the few weeks that follow as the semester drags on. They play awesome hockey, throw a few excellent parties, study, go on a sweet roadie to New York City (after which Dex and Nursey are noisier and more insufferable than ever before, just now with kissing interspersed with the yelling). Everything seems-- pretty normal.

It’s the same except for the way that is isn’t. It’s like there was this thin sheet of separation in between him and Ransom before that’s gone now. They always sat together on roadies, but last weekend they snuggled under the same blanket with their fingers secretly linked together. Ransom spends more nights down in his bunk, as it gets colder. But then again, there’s a night or two when it’s not cold at all, when they just can’t be bothered to separate for sleeping. There’s a sort of unspoken agreement that they don’t mention their morning wood-- which is good, because Holster wakes up more mornings than not entangled with Rans and ridiculously hard. But, they just get out of bed and go on with their day. Like nothing ever happened. Maybe it is nothing.

Holster’s not really sure what to make of that. He’s totally at peace with it, it’s awesome. Being close to Ransom is one of his favorite things in the whole world, so more of it is great. No one seems inclined to question them or point it out, either. Or maybe they haven’t changed their behavior that much at all. Maybe he should actually talk to his HDFS professor; she’s got some kind of therapy license after all. How the hell do you explain you’re in a semi-romantic super-close intense relationship with your best friend who may or may not be straight but definitely likes holding hands with you and you really don’t want that part to stop?

This week’s Healthy Couples class is really bringing him down, though. They’re learning about Intimate Partner Violence (Which Holster would have called “Domestic Violence,” until just today, but, apparently this is the more correct term, so he dutifully writes it down in his notes.) They learn statistics that make him want to cry, talk through the Power and Control wheel, and discuss toxic masculinity and the macho paradox. Holster wonders if he can get in contact with this Jackson Katz guy and send him to his old high school, because the sports teams there could really use a tune-up. Maybe he should talk to Jack and Lardo about doing something on their team, just to make sure they’re all being kickass allies. He also makes a mental note to have a chat with Dex and Nursey because  _man_ that is a lot of yelling. They're probably okay but-- he'd rather know he talked to them than let them implode by themselves.

This is by far the most notes Holster has ever taken in a class. He’s not sure if Ransom or Shitty would be prouder of him.

Finally, as the last hour of class is ticking by, their professor advises she wants to end on light note-- and passes out a little handout about “The Five Love Languages.”

There’s a note at the top about the “Platinum Rule.”

  
_The Golden Rule is to treat others as you would like to be treated. The Platinum Rule is to treat others as they would like to be treated._

Adam Birkholtz is about ready to change his major to HDFS because holy shit, he has never once learned things this applicable in his business and economics classes. This stuff is useful in real life right fucking now and he wants to go home to Ransom and...

He pauses, because he has to, again, wrap his brain around the fact that he considers Ransom to be his significant other. Ransom _is_ the most significant “other,” in his life, so there is that. So it’s probably okay to treat him like a partner. And if they’re partners, Holster is going to be the best damn partner he can be. Looking at the list, he has some brand new ideas of what kinds of things he needs to do.

Holster knows, instantly, that _his_ personal love language is physical affection. Holster wants to be snuggled and held close and to hold hands and have his hair petted and get back massages and work out together and generally be physically close to the people he loves. It’s why the hockey lifestyle works for him so well; there’s not a lot of boundaries.

Now, though, he realizes, he’s been going about his life thinking that’s how everyone wants to receive his love, and it makes _so much more sense_ now that his mom didn’t want to snuggle with him and that his best friend in high school spent most of his time shoving him away. They didn’t want to get Holster’s love that way. They wanted to be loved _their_ way.

It doesn’t take long looking at the list to figure out which one Ransom needs more of in his life-- which one will really tell him how awesome he is. Literally.

Lardo is a saint, and just silently jogs along with him back to the Haus. (She only gives him the all-knowing side-eye twice!)

He pounds his way up into the attic and finds Ransom bent over his desk with his nose in a biology book.

“Justin Oluransi,” he declares loudly, only slightly out of breath, “You are smart, and hard-working. You are an inspiration to me and everyone with whom you come into contact. You are helpful as fuck, you’re handsome as hell, and you are the best goddamn friend I have ever had.”

Ransom stares at him open-mouthed, and his pencil slips out of his grip and clatters to the floor. Holster’s heart misses a beat. Okay, maybe that wasn’t--

“Thank you,” he says quietly, and honest to Gretzky, it is the very first time he has ever seen Ransom blush. Words of Affirmation, yo. He knew it.

“It’s just true, man.” Holster says, after they’re done staring at each other for what feels like an interminable amount of time. Ransom smiles, and that is more than good enough.

He sets up a reminder on his phone to compliment Ransom at least twice a day. It makes him smile every damn time.

Swawesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, the five love languages are:
> 
> ~Physical Affection  
> ~Words of Praise and Affirmation  
> ~Gifts  
> ~Acts of Service (Did your chores, cleaned your car, etc.)  
> and ~Quality Time
> 
> People usually have one or two primary forms that they like to receive. Some people like all of the forms (ME!) but some people don't like to be touched, some people don't like to be complimented, some people don't like receiving gifts, etc. Furthermore, some people are WAY more attentive to some types than others. For instance, for some people, receiving a gift is nice, but spending quality time will REALLY show that person you love them. Or vice versa.
> 
> ALSO. I would have spent way more time on Intimate Partner Violence in a class I taught. I felt VERY strongly that it needed to be included in the fic, but I didn't want to have to loiter there. The Power and Control Wheel is an excellent resource for learning about types of IPV that most people don't think about. 
> 
> If you know someone who you think is struggling with IPV, please get in touch with the National Domestic Violence Hotline at thehotline dot org. If you are outside of the US, please still reach out to your local support networks.
> 
> Toxic Masculinity in sports (and in general) is a serious issue, and I highly recommend Jackson Katz's book, The Macho Paradox.
> 
> Thanks, as always, for reading :)


	5. The Triangular Theory of Love

If Holster thought that things were-- nontraditional? Unusual? Fucking wonky as fuck but still awesome? before now, he hadn’t considered what giving Ransom compliments would do to their relationship. It’s a little bit like being on a ride at an amusement park. He feels like laughing all the time, but his stomach keeps dropping out of his body. His heart races, his palms sweat, and he stares. He’s in love with Ransom. Just, completely gone for him, and it only gets worse.

Because every time Holster says something like, “Ransom, you dress so sharp, dude. I can tell you respect the shit out of yourself.” Ransom lights up like... Canada Day? Do they have fireworks on Canada day? And that question leads Holster to start actually googling Canadian traditions and making a plan for next July. He’s into researching a food called _beaver tails_ and considering a trip to Ottowa when he has to shake himself and close his laptop because _Holy Shit_ he is so far gone.

It’s just that he can’t imagine his life without Ransom, even though he has literally no idea where he will be at this time next year. Holster’s not much of a planner, to be honest. He likes to watch sitcoms and make up silly songs and play hockey. Not a lot of planning is required for that. Ransom, on the other hand, is an incredible planner, and has spreadsheets for everything.

“Hey, Holtzy,” Ransom says one night, just as Holster is putting his shit together to go to probably have his life changed again at his ridiculous love class. “I narrowed down my med school choices.”

Holster, more attentive than ever to Ransom’s planning, shoves his notebook into his backpack and comes to stand next to Ransom’s desk, so that he can see the inevitable spreadsheet. Yep, there it is, a chart with values and labels and a shorthand that Holster doesn’t have a chance in hell of understanding.

“Yeah, dude? Give me the rundown. I wanna know,” he rests his hand on his shoulder (God, he has such good effing shoulders) and leans further in.

“Okay, so, there are tons of good med schools, and I’ll probably apply to six of them-- just so that I increase my chances of getting in.”

Holster doesn’t understand how Ransom wouldn’t get into med school, he’s brilliant and he volunteers and he’s going to get an article published this year. Of course, he also understands that he is hella biased about Ransom’s excellence-levels, so he just says, “Yeah?”

“So, I narrowed it down to ten, but I thought you could...” he trails off here, uncertainly. That gorgeous color rises in his cheeks again and he taps his mouse nervously, like he’s said something wrong.

Holster isn’t sure what’s going on with that, so he says, “Yeah, help you pick! Like we did with Jack!” It had helped Jack a lot to have everything laid out and to have people to talk through his choices. In a lot of ways Jack and Rans are similarly intense.

Ransom turns around, and looks him straight in the eyes, then looks down at his desk again. “No, Holster, I--” he trails off again. This conversation is starting to feel really weird, even for their weird relationship.

“Should I go get the other dudes? We can project your spreadsheet up--” he’s already starting to think about how he could beg off love class, in case Ransom needs him to lead the choice committee.

Ransom shakes his head and laughs quietly, “No, Holtzy. I want _your_ opinion. Just you.”

Here it is Holster’s turn to blush, and his heart skips a beat, “okay, man. I’m here to help.”

There’s a loud silence, and Ransom stands up. Holster takes a step back to give him some room, but Ransom’s right there anyway, taking one of his hands and staring down at it. “I’m not saying this right. Holster-- _Adam,_ I want you to help me pick because-- because I was hoping-- maybe you’ll come with me?”

For a moment, it feels like all of the oxygen has gone out of the room. Like they’re floating out in space and there’s no gravity at all to hold him down. It’s the amusement-park feeling times a billion. He knows he’s blushing and maybe shaking, and wow, _wow._ Just, Ransom wants him to come with him?!

“You don’t have to, I mean, obviously, but-- there are some great business schools in New York City, if I get into Columbia, if you want to go to grad school, or I mean, you could just get a job. Or--”

“Yes.” He blurts out without even having to think about it. Ransom smiles and blushes and he just looks so goddamn beautiful and he really does want them to stay together next year, which is, _holy shit,_ “Yes,” he says again.

“Yeah?” Ransom whispers hopefully.

“Hell yeah, Ransy! Holy shit. Yes. Let’s move together!” Then, he leans in and wraps Ransom up in the biggest hug he can muster, and laughs, knowing it is thunderously loud, then lets out a similarly loud whoop as he spins Ransom around the room (which is not super-easy, but is super-worth it, Ransom is like 210 pounds of glorious solid Hockey muscle). He hugs him for a few more moments before he remembers _love styles,_ and whispers, “You are going to get into an awesome school in an awesome city, because you are brilliant and determined, and I'll be with you every step of the way.”

Ransom isn’t saying anything, so Holster lowers him slowly back down to the floor. The feeling of his body sliding down his those scant two inches that separate them in height is like an electric shock that goes straight to his toes. It feels like that moment on the ice when he’s all momentum and precision; when he and Ransom are perfectly in sync and everything just _clicks._ He’s grinning and they’re staring at each other and they’re just-- so close, and Ransom tilts his head up, just so. His lips are perfect and right there and...

“Rans,” he whispers, and starts to lean in.

The yell of “Birkholtz!” and Lardo’s tiny feet pounding up their attic stairs startle them about three feet apart.

“Yo,” Lardo says when she enters their room, “Are we seriously going to be late to HDFS again?”

He looks bewilderingly at Ransom, who smiles goofily at him, “Go, man, we’ll uh, talk cities when you come home.”

“‘Kay, yeah. Let’s, yeah.”

He knows he’s grinning like an idiot and he drops his backpack twice trying to get out of the Haus. Lardo, again winning the friend points, only shakes her head at him and sets a blistering pace for them as they trek across campus.

Love class is about successful co-parenting, which Holster cannot even think about right now. He has a brief flash of how awesome Ransom was with the peewees they had out to the rink and shoves that right out of his head. He’s frantically trying to remember what med schools Ransom has talked about before and where they were, mostly, to distract himself from thinking about the way it felt to have Ransom pressed up against him, about to kiss him. He’s pretty sure he’s not reading that wrong.

He’s paying half attention until the words fully stop being in English, which startles him out of his reverie. He almost slips back into inattention, when he realizes the professor has just switched topics to types of love-- she’s outlining a bunch of greek words, _eros, agape, philia, ludus._ Then she switches slides and there’s a triangle.

There’s _intimacy_ at the top, _passion_ down to the side, and _commitment_ off to the other side. In the middle it says “consummate love.”

For the 700th time, bells go off in his head. He’s been upping the ante of their intimacy since he started taking this class-- they communicate better, fight better and straight up love each other better. Every time they get closer, he feels his feelings getting more and more intense, until he finds himself thinking of Ransom at the most ridiculous moments. Now, Ransom’s pushed them out into the last corner of the triangle-- they’re committed. They’re staying together next year. They’re staying together until Ransom becomes a doctor. They're  _staying together._

Consummate Love.

He barely hears the professor explaining empty love and companionate love and fatuous love and he’s got a whole side of the triangle unlabeled when they leave.

Holster takes off at a run the second they’re out the door, and Lardo just laughs, a rare, surprisingly loud thing usually saved for particularly clutch goals, and yells, “GO GET HIM, HOLSTER!”

Ransom’s in his arms before they can even close the door of the attic.

“I don’t care where we go,” Holster manages to say, “I just want to go with you.”

“Yeah, but you should have a say, too, I mean--”

But Holster is kissing him before he can finish that sentence. He’s kissing Ransom and it’s glorious. It’s the best celly, the purest song in his heart, the culmination of three and a half years of love and build up and friendship, and it feels fucking amazing.

Their kiss isn’t particularly good because they keep laughing and smiling at each other, but it is by far the best kiss Holster’s ever experienced. It’s _Ransom,_ of course it is. It’s beautiful and _so fucking hot._

“Do you wanna,” Ransom gasps out, after what seems like four seconds or six years, who the hell knows, “do you wanna talk about some cities, or?” He trails off and nods to their bunkbed.

Holster just kisses him again, and leads him backward. As they tangle up in each other, a flurry of arms and clothes and kissing and endearments, his last truly coherent thought is that he really deserves in A in HDFS 332.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, team. Thanks for reading! This fic was so much fun to write and even more fun to talk to you about in the comments. I'm so glad people got information from it! Please leave me a comment or a kudos if you liked it! I'm also considering attaching more stories to this. What happened to Dex and Nursey in NYC? 
> 
> Please enjoy the smutty epilogue!
> 
> Thanks team. Love well, okay? :)


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